


Pandora: To Dream Of Glass And Silver

by GraveyardDisco



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Frank Iero Is A Little Shit, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Gerard Way, Slow Burn, Somewhat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-16 11:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraveyardDisco/pseuds/GraveyardDisco
Summary: The mysterious shop "Pandora" keeps receiving strange shipments that cause the eyes to waver. As the world grows closer to May, ever more does it warp and shift in tone.One day they fall into the surreal world of the Fae and Faeries, unable to get back out.How will our heroes return back home to their quaint little shop?
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 9





	1. Fragile On Silver Strings

Rain, falling in sheets against the streets and the rooftops, a red umbrella among the downpour, and a figure dressed in black already soaked to the bone. 

Gerard sloshes his way through another puddle, not caring anymore that his rain boots are now small ponds. He wiggles his toes uncomfortably against the water, resigning himself to this small torture. He isn't being overdramatic, goddammit, wet socks are the worst.

The carabiner hook holding all the grocery bags is making his fingers numb but he can't exactly switch hands, so he ignores it. 

He can finally see the golden glow of the Willow’s End lamp, sparkling the end of the journey in the distance, shining strong even through the thick fog. Gerard hurries his paces, and comes to a stop at the frosted glass of the doorway. It looks empty, so he assumes they're in the back as he pushes open the door.

“Okay motherfuckers, I have your food! You better hope those plastic baggies kept ‘em dry cause I ain't goin’ out again!” 

His voice rings out over the sound of the rain on windows, and the soft whir of the ceiling vents. The shop is empty at this time of night, all but the employees long gone and at rest.

There's a crash and a slipping noise, and Frank comes around the corner, arms windmilling and socked feet sliding on the tile floors. He comes to tumble at Gerard's feet, a pile of awkward limbs and short fury. 

“Oh, hello Gerard, how was your evening?”  
Frank says, miffed voice muffled by the floor. Gerard toes him with an edge of wet rainboot and Frank flicks his ankle in response. 

“You know, wet. Crummy. Generally unpleasant.” He steps out of the now-Lake-Michigan-rainboots and sets down the bag of groceries on top of Frank. Now hands free, his soping jacket hits the floor. 

“Oh, the things I do for you guys! You better be grateful, Mr. Sick-all-the-time, you would instantly die in this weather. That's a fact.”

Gerard shakes beads of water from his hair, and picks at the shirt clinging to his skin. Oh, the rain, what a joy. He drops the red umbrella in the ever-growing puddle of water and sighs. 

Frank rolls over then, dumping the bag and its contents to the floor. He spots a container of fried rice over his shoulder and makes a grab for it, jumping up and beeline-ing to the back room before Gerard can catch him. 

“Come back, Frank! No, sharing is caring! We have to-” he is cut off in surprise when Mikey wanders into the front room holding a broom and dustpan. “How- Who convinced you to sweep?” Gerard asks, incredulous. 

“Damn, Gee I can't sweep the floor if you're making it all rainy.” He seems to pause for a moment, considering Gerard's question. “Oh, Ray asked me to.”

“And you just listened? Without bribery or threat?”  
Gerard gestures widely, still gaping at the broom, spilled grocery bags momentarily forgotten. “What did he even say?”

“‘Hey Mikey do you mind sweeping while I shelve these books?’ And I said, ‘sure, Ray.’ And that's that.”

Mikey drops the broom and dustpan on Gerard’s toes and proceeds to take care of the fallen groceries. Mikey, arms now full of dinner, escapes to the back room while Gerard still squawks and flaps his arms at the broom.

Ray pushes through the doors of the entryway a moment later, arms full of books. “Okay, Gee, I know you said we're all off work now, and to not try and go home in this weather, and ‘just relax’ but if Mr. August’s order isn't checked now then you and I both will forget. So I-” 

He cuts off, taking in the whole of the scene. Broom on the floor, coat, umbrella, and rain boots joining it. Large puddles reflecting the fluorescent lights, the rain streaked front windows, and the flickering of the street lamps outside. At the center of it all, Gerard, soaking wet and exhausted, busy scribbling a note on his arm in marker that looks suspiciously like “ _only Ray can convince him of chores_ ”. 

Ray picks back up the books, and decides it's best to not bother for now. 

\------

“-And Mrs. Fishers is always looking for more books on ‘The Fair Folk’, as she calls them, so we'll have to keep a look out for that,”

Ray is spinning in the desk chair of the front counter, listing off all the special order clients for the week while Gerard restlessly taps a pen against the counter. 

“And then, Hayley, from the Flower shop downtown, has said to be looking for anything we would find odd to go in a planter or on a wall. And no, Gerard, odd as in ‘unusual and interesting’, not as in ‘a babydoll head that doubles as a synthesizer’.”

Gerard looks affronted at this, but his eyes are joking in the sunlight through the window panes, “Okay listen, that was very cool, anyone could see that! That would make a kickass decoration for a planter!” 

Ray laughs and throws his pen at Gerard, who catches it to add to his pen-tapping-chorus to the next song in his head. Ray sticks out his tongue and continues his spin and readthrough of the list. 

“It says then we have-” he squints at the page, “A name even _I_ can't read, who's coming in today to look at all of the books we keep in the Elena room and-”  
He cuts off when his brain catches up to his mouth, looking up to see any possible reaction from Gerard. 

The Elena room was a creation by Gerard's late grandmother, and Ray knows he misses her dearly.

“And, what? What else would they like to see?”

Ray looks back down at his list, relieved at the lack of reaction. “And any drinking glasses or ‘goblets’ we may be in possession of.” 

Ray flips through the rest of the pages, absently humming to the beat of pen-tapping. 

“Okay that should be it for this week! Everyone else is walk-ins or undefined. Or your mother.”

Gerard frowns, and drops the pens to pick at the wood surface of the counter. 

“Why did she write in again, lord knows it’s not to buy anything.”

“Probably to complain about your hair, Gee. It’s her job, as a mother and as a hairdresser.”  
Ray pokes at his own curly mess of hair in example. 

“Well at least it's not down to my shoulders anymore. That was getting unmanageable.”  
His (admittedly greasy) dyed-black hair now just curls over his ears and sweeps across his forehead. It's messy, but less stringy this way. 

“And probably to tell Mikey to eat more. He’s made of bones and pipe cleaners.” Ray resumes his stacking of the papers, and returns them to the file in the drawer. 

Ray holds up a finger, thinking. “Also, ban Frank from front desk duty for a while, I can't read some of the names on our planner. He's a six year old when it comes to handwriting.” 

Gerard laughs and makes the mental note.

\------

The man that walks through the door is short, he’s not menacing, but there's a definite air of Other to him. Gerard dismisses this, after all, everyone who comes to their shop is always a bit on the edge of somewhere else. The books of unknown origin and nick-nacks of unknown use tend to draw in a certain brand of weirdo. 

“Hello sir, are you here after request or are you browsing today?”

Ray is off with his mother the first Sunday of each month, so Gerard is manning the front desk today. There’s a certain gleam about the sun, and none of the dancing shadows seem quite real. It’s all too bright outside, the April world aglow. 

“I’m the one after goblets and the tomes perhaps in the special objects room.” The man speaks in even cadence, but there’s still something off about him. The way he’s standing, or his tone of voice, Gerard doesn’t quite know. This must be the name Ray couldn’t read on the planner. 

“Oh, of course. Right this way.” Gerard pushes out of the desk chair and moves around the counter to the entry of the main rooms in the shop. The man follows behind him as they walk past the rows of shelves and low stacked tables. The overhead vents shift into melodic whir, filling the space with soft quiet. 

When the clocks start ticking in time with the man’s footsteps, Gerard knows something is actually wrong. The walls of the room blur at the edges, and sharp lines of the tiles start to waver. Gerard fumbles for a step, but he regains footing carefully. It’s ever closer to May, same shit as always. Earlier symptoms just means earlier medication, and more reasons for Mikey to get concerned. 

Where _is_ Mikey? Gerard glances around quickly, but it seems the shop is vacant, Frank and Mikey both absent. 

“Is everything alright, Gerard?” The man, who Gerard _still_ doesn’t know the name of, asks, not unkindly. 

The air turns to dust in a moment, then liquid the next. Gerard plasters on a fake smile and nods, not quite trusting his voice yet. 

The Elena room is a space off the main area, smaller and with a different feel. The shelves are plain metal, instead of the warm wood of the main room. This is the place where Elena used to keep all the oddities from who-knows-where, available only by request. There are things in here that can’t make sense, forgotten memories and spinning lies in the physical form. Gerard keeps his gaze to the floor as the man looks through the books. The man hums at a few of the titles, but Gerard is too busy staring at his shoes and musing over his deteriorating mental state to care much. 

“I think that will be all, thank you.” 

Gerard looks up and the man is done, 3 books of undefined colors in his arms and a single cup on top. 

The doors to the Elena room close with a snap and send a pulse of color through the main room. There are stars singing through the walls, despite the daylit hour, and the glass in the windows shifts into an unperceivable hue before settling. 

“Are you, uh, interested in viewing any of our regular selection? We have, um, we have-” _books that don't give you headaches_ “-some cool clocks and things.”

The man just shakes his head, dropping a small pouch of presumably currency on the front desk before he leaves. The overhead bell chimes his exit and Gerard lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. All the shifting force in the room leaves in an instant, and everything is left as it ever was. 

The room is always a hassle to deal with. It brings back too many memories of his late grandmother, of time spent together and time wasted away, it’s full of missed opportunities and all the inspirations of her teachings. But then, it’s also full of all the objects of undefined origin, so much louder in presence now that Elena is gone. 

A new shipment of things arrives on the second Tuesday of each month, dropped off at the back door, just boxes of oddities and stacks of books. Gerard has tried to stay up and see who or what delivers them, sat at the backdoor stairs all night. He knew he didn't fall asleep, and yet he woke up that Tuesday and it had all already arrived in tubs labeled for degree of strangeness. 

Gerard groans and rubs his head at the memory, just another mark for the crazy list, he supposes. 

The bell chimes again and Mikey and Frank come stumbling in, smiles on their faces. Mikey tosses a bag of chips that knocks Gerard in the side of the face. It hits the desk surface with a soft whap.

“Here’s some chips, loser. Me and Frank went over to Momma Richie’s to help a bit for our slow day and we earned ourselves some snacks. What did you d- oh.” Mikey notices Gerard’s expression and stops short. Frank just shrugs and continues through the entryway. 

“So, did something happen today?”

Gerard purses his lips and threads his fingers together. “You could say that. It’s- well, It’s getting closer to May and we had another weird visitor. I’m going to try switching medication again, everything is fine, it just seems to be heightened.”

This is, of course, and understatement. 

“Yeah okay. Sorry about leaving and all that. Just uh, try and take it easy?” 

They both know Mikey really isn't good at voicing concerns like this, so it's the sentiment that truly matters here, and Gerard can tell he means it.  
When Mikey walks away Gerard picks up the pouch the man left for him. It's oddly weighted, full of inscribed coins and what looks to be glass stones. There's a card attached to the drawstring but all the writing goes fuzzy when Gerard tries to read it. 

He'll need to start thinking about new medicine sooner than planned


	2. Oh, The Lonley Moments Of Passing Days

The table snaps beneath his weight and Frank goes tumbling to the floor with a shrill “Fuck!” 

“That hurt!” Frank pokes the ruined table as if it's to blame. 

“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't try and sit on tea tables, Frank,” Ray says, dropping a schedule paper on Frank's head.

Frank grabs the paper and frowns. “Hey! Why do people keep dropping things on me!”

Mikey snorts and looks over his own schedule sheet, “Its cause you're short, Frank. And you're always on the floor.”

Frank angrily waves a finger in Mikey's direction and tries to throw the paper, which goes poorly. 

“Well if I was a spy I could fit in air vents better than any of you. And-” Frank pats the tiles for emphasis, “The floor and me are buddies.” 

Gerard pokes Frank's side from his vantage point in a solid armchair, “You're friends with the floor cause it's the only one that could tolerate you anymore!” 

Frank elbows him in the stomach, and scrunches up his face in a silly expression. “Thanks for contributing to pick-on-Frank day, _Gerard_.”

Gerard elbows him back, “Aw don't worry about it, it was my pleasure. And don't feel too special now, we'll pick on Mikey after lunch, and me in the afternoon! And then rib on Ray just before we all leave for the day. It's right here in the schedule.”

Ray scoffs and sits down on a -much more sturdy- table nearby, “It's not actually on the list, but feel free to add it if you want, dorks.”

Gerard smiles, joking, “I just might.”  
\-----

“Buenos dias, dick snatch, you're looking especially gorgeous today,” Frank gestures at his own eyes in reference to Gerard's dark circles. Gerard blinks at him, morning eyes still not settled for the day. 

“Oh, fuck off.” The hand not holding two precarious coffee mugs flips Frank the bird. Gerard collapses into one of their chairs by the walls and settles in for a brood. 

Frank breaks the brood by throwing a small book at Gerard. It hits him in the side of the head, then falls to his lap, almost knocking the coffees. 

“Oh sorry, Gerard. Your face must have gotten in the way of my shelving,” Frank says, in mock apology. He's wearing a shit-eating grin and Gerard suspects were his arms not full of books, he'd be waving them around wildly to the tone of his sentence.

“There's not even any bookshelves over here, asshat.” Gerard turns over the small novel projectile, tracing over its title. ‘ _Trials of the Fair Kind_ ’, huh. 

“Oh cheer up, what's got you down enough to not care about your appearance, O well-dressed one?”

Gerard scoffs into one of his coffee mugs, sliding down to sit further into the armchair. He's dressed comfortably, not in his usual starched getup of his Grandmother's tradition. He's too stressed to keep up appearances today, no matter the remembrance behind them. 

It's the last day of April, right the eve of May when things are at their worst. Gerard didn't know if he could even wake up today, let alone get in uniform.

“Is one of those for me?” Frank points to the two coffee cups Gerard is holding, snapping Gerard out of his thinking.

“No-” Gerard produces a very weird crazy straw from a pocket of his shapeless hoodie, glaring Frank right in the face as he slams the straw into his mugs, “they're both for me.”

Frank gives him a confused frown and returns to his shelving.

\----

The shop is closed today, rain streaking down the windows and the lights dim. Today is a holiday to no one but Elena, the day before May, the month that gets so much worse with her gone. The walls shift even without strange visitors now, vines framing the windowpanes or purples staining the wall panels. Eve of May, and today they dance more than ever. 

Gerard can see the brick columns starting to warp in the corner of his eye, but he refuses to look, lest it be real. 

He rubs a tired hand at his face, why is he even here today, he didn't even want to be alive this morning, screaming out at the firefly lights and the pain in his head. Now it's more dull an ache, but it's still a bitch.

The Elena Room sends out another pulse of _something_ into the walls. It ripples with energy and then snaps back. Gerard watches, sipping one of the coffees with a shaky hand.

He stands suddenly, then pauses, brain catching up with his motions. Yes, okay. 

“Hey uh, Mikey?” he waits till Mikey looks up from his gameboy before continuing, “I'm going to go check on the Elena Room. I'm getting weird vibes from it.”

Mikey glances quickly at Ray and Frank, engaged in an interesting game of chess on a cube in the corner, before responding, “Okay, just be careful. May is tomorrow, are you sure you're feeling okay?”

Gerard looks down at his rumpled clothes and then back up at Mikey, “Yeah little dude I'm just feeling swell. But yeah, don't worry, just a check is all.”

Mikey nods, and then gives Gerard a mock salute before he returns to his gameboy. Ray flaps a hand absently at Mikey behind him, who hands Ray a potato chip and goes back to his game. Gerard smiles small, for what a little system they have built here.

Gerard nods in echo as he rounds the shelves to get to the back room, the mismatched door growing ever closer. The woodgrains are shifting and spiraling now, glowing like embers and then fading into a cool sea. 

Gerard grabs the aged brass doorknob hesitantly, it's shockingly cold and he just stands there for a moment, thinking it over. 

He finally pushes open the heavy door, and the first assault to his senses is sound. It's almost like small bells, or the drip of several faucets, or rain on glass beads, ringing out in the space and echoing around what sounds like a larger space. When the door falls heavy shut behind him, forgotten, the sound cuts off sudden. It’s dead quiet of just his labored breathing, not even the idle sounds of outside the door making it inside the room. 

It’s contents are just as headache-inducing as ever, but one box in particular seems to be more meddlesome than usual. The metalwork leaves entwining the wood lid are pulsing violet on the edge of sight, in time with something that almost sounds like singing. 

Gerard can’t help it really, when he reaches for the box. It’s like his hands have a mind of their own when he opens the lid, terrified. It’s calling, in the same tones Elena’s voice used to have, but not quite. There’s something amiss.  
And then, he’s gone, empty box open on the floor, no trace of him left.


End file.
